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The Patriot Girl 




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Lilian F. CKandler 



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The Patriot Girl 



A Patriotic Comedy in Two Acts 

BY 

Lilian F. Chandler 




PHILADELPHIA 
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1914 






Copyright 1914 by The Penn Pubushing Company 



fEB -4 1914 



§)C1.D 35907 



The Patriot Girl 



CHARACTERS 



1(^11 

Penelope Winthrop of Neiv York, 

Elizabeth a maid, 

1775 

Madame Katherine Dudley of Boston. 

Constance Dudley ) i . ■, . 

Barbara Dudley \ her daughters. 

Maid. 

Anthony Rowland an Ajnerican soldier. 

Sir Eustace Grafton an Englishma7i. 

Time of Playing. — One hour and a half. 

ACT I 

the awakening 
Time. — The early evening. Scene. — Drawing-room of 
the Dudleys in Boston. 

ACT II 

the event 
(^Ancestral patriotis?n^ 
Time. — An hour later. Scene. — The same. 



STORY OF THE PLAY 

Penelope Winthrop, of New York, pays her aristocratic 
Boston relatives an unexpected visit, only to find the family 
away. Penelope's patriotism is a matter of course, so she 
does not appreciate the historic and haunted family mansion. 
During the Revolution an ancestress saved Boston, and the 
spirits of those who took part in the event reenact it on each 
anniversary. Penelope has arrived on the very night, and 
courageously decides to remain. On the stroke of nine, the 
portraits of her ancestors move, the figures step from their 
frames, talk to Penelope, and then, true to tradition, enact 
an inspiring little drama in which papers important to Wash- 
ington are saved and an English officer is repulsed. Penel- 
ope's patriotism burns brighter as she realizes what it means 
to be an American. 



PROPERTIES 

Coffee-tray, with pot, sugar-bowl, sugar, tongs, wine 
glasses, cake. Book, which should look very old. Package 
of old papers. 



SCENE PLOT 




Scene. — Drawing-room of the Dudley mansion, in Boston. 
Entrances r. and l. Table up c. A book on the table. 
Chairs as indicated. Desk or old-fashioned "secretary" 
up 'r. Spinning-wheel down R. (may be omitted). The 
furniture should be colonial and severe. Chairs stiff. Em- 
broidery frames in evidence. Miniatures and silhouettes on 
the wails. One large painting of man on wall, r. At the 
back three large picture frames, covered with curtains that 
may be readily pulled aside. The frames come close 
to the floor, so that the '' portraits " may easily step out and 
return. Dark curtains back of the frames to give the figures 
an effective background. 



The Patriot Girl 



ACT I 

The Awakening 

SCENE. — Dratving-rootn of the Dudleys, i7i Boston. 

{^Enter Elizabeth tishering Penelope Winthrop.) 

Elizabeth. This way, if you please, Miss Winthrop. 
{Enter Penelope.) This is the drawing-room of the 
Dudley Family, just as it has been for almost three hundred 
years. 

Penelope. Yes, it looks it ! Severely Colonial — pure 
and precious — no jarring notes — except me, perhaps. 

Elizabeth. Yes, it is purely Colonial, as you say. I 
trust you will be comfortable. Miss Winthrop. 

Penelope {looking about her). No, not comfortable, 
Elizabeth ; chastened and edified, perhaps, but not " com- 
fortable." There are no facilities. By the way, what is be- 
hind that curtain ? 

Elizabeth. The portraits of the Dudley ladies, of 
Revolutionary times. I will bring your coffee directly, Miss 
Winthrop. {Places table, and goes out.) 

Penelope {ivalking about and humming). 

Always take mother's advice. 
She knows what is best for your good. 

I have learned by experience the truth of that noble senti- 
ment, so I need not complain of my present predicament. I 
suppose Bostonians do go away from home occasionally, but 
I could not quite imagine that these ancestor-worshipping 
relatives of mine would leave their eighteenth century house 
even for a night. So, instead of awaiting an answer to my 
telegram, as mother advised, I took the Knickerbocker, and 

5 



6 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

here I am, to find the family away until next week. Well, I 
have unpacked and dined, and shall improve my time until 
their return by inspecting the house, the furniture, the pic- 
tures, and other pleasant reminders of ye olden days. {All 
this time she is looking about her.') Now see these chairs; 
not a lounge among them. No wonder the girls of 1775 
had good figures, and no wonder they went to bed early ! 
There must have been a powerful amount of rest and relaxa- 
tion possible in those ten-foot-thick feather beds. One of 
them is in my room now, and I am morally certain they will 
heat it up to-night with the warming-pan I saw in the corner. 

\E71ter Elizabeth with coffee tray,) 

Elizabeth. Shall I pour your coffee, Miss Winthrop ? 

Penelope. Yes, do ! 1 have not energy enough to do 
anything for myself ! 

Elizabeth {Jiolding sugar in tongs). One lump or two, 
Miss Winthrop ? 

Penelope {sighing). Only one, please. I want two, but 
mustn't have them. 

Elizabeth {suggestively — looking into bowl). Here is a 
large lump, Miss Winthrop — almost as large as two pieces. 

Penelope (/^?//^/?/-'/^). Thanks! {Sits up and looks at 
her.) You seem like a very intelligent girl, Elizabeth. 
Have you been in this family long ? 

Elizabeth. Oh, yes, Miss Wmthrop. I came over with 
the Dudleys on the " Arbella," in 1630. 

VRi<i^\.ovK {utterly astou?ided). In — in — in — 1630? Ah, 
then you are indeed what is called an " Old retainer " ! 

Elizabeth. Pardon, Miss Winthrop, but would you 
object to calling me a middle-aged retainer? 

Penelope. Certainly not ; but might not one who came 
over in 1630 be reasonably considered as — er — er — well, 
getting along in life ? 

Elizabeth. Pardon, Miss Winthrop, but I live so much 
in the past. I meant that my people had always served the 
Dudleys, and came to America in the same ship. I have 
been in the family from my birth. 

Penelope. Ah, I see. Wonderful ! There is not a 
servant like you in New York ! 

Elizabeth. But, madame, there is only one Dudley 
family. 

Penelope. But I am a Dudley. 



THE PATRIOT GIRL 7 

Elizabeth. Only of the New York brancli, Miss Win- 
throp. 

Penelope. And evidently of not much account. I 
could not persuade you to go back with me ? 

Elizabeth. Thank you, no, Miss VVinthrop. You see 
the ladies here are very kind to me — teach me grammar and 
all that. Besides — Boston, being the original home of the 
family in America, is greatly to be preferred. 

Penelope. Yes, 1 suppose so. (^Yawns.^ I think I 
will have no more coffee. 

Elizabeth. Very well. Miss Winthrop. Would you 
like to see the " Transcript " ? 

Penelope. No, I shouldn't like to, but I suppose it is 
the proper thing. 

Elizabeth. Certainly, Miss Winthrop; the Dudleys 
have always read the ''Transcript." 

Penelope. I dare say that while I am here I shall learn 
many things that a Dudley ought to do. 

Elizabeth. Indeed, Miss Winthrop, I have no doubt 
that your stay in the cradle of your race will be very benefi- 
cial, 

Penelope. Oh, I hope so. It ought to make me a bet- 
ter American and — er — all that sort of thing, oughtn't it? 

Elizabeth (^seriously'). I hope so, Miss VVinthrop. 

Penelope {flippantly). Well, I am sadly afraid that 
spending the most of my life abroad has dulled my patriot- 
ism. 1 am not positive whether our National Hymn is 
" Hail to the Chief" or " Watch on the Rhine." Which is 
it, Elizabeth ? 

Elizabeth (shocked). Oh, Miss Winthrop ! 

Penelope. Oh, I wouldn't be anything but an Ameri- 
can, of course. It's very pleasant to reside in the cradle of 
the race, as you say. But I could not live in the past as 
these Bostonians do; I want to be right up at the head of 
the procession, with the drum-major and the flag, and not at 
the end, with the small boy and the bucket of water. 
{Animatedly.) And speaking of cradles — is there any- 
thing in this house as modern as a mattress .? 

Elizabeth. Pardon, Miss Winthrop, but the Dudleys 
have always slept on feathers. 

Penelope. Well, I suppose I must endure it; but you 
need not apply the warming-pan to my feathers to-night. 

Elizabeth, But the Dudleys always -. 



8 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Penelope {JDipressively.') Elizabeth, as I must draw the 
line somewhere, 1 shall do so at the warming-pan. (^aazk- 
^KY:Yi.bows, Penelope _y<zz£///j-.) Heigho ! How stupid it 
is 1 I wish something exciting would happen to-night. 

Elizabeth. Exciting ? Something exciting will happen 
to-night. This is December 2d. 

Penelope. Well? 

Elizabeth. Does the date, December Second, remind 
you of nothing ? 

Penelope. Nothing except that I have not bought my 
Christmas gifts. 

Elizabeth. Not December Second, seventeen seventy- 
five ? 

Penelope. Forgive me, Elizabeth, but 1 was not here 
then. Now you, who came over in 1630, must have been 
quite a well grown girl in 1775. Then again, I have 
always lived abroad, and hardly know my family history. 
What happened on December 2, 1775 ? 

Elizabeth. The servants are not permitted to discuss 
family affairs. 

Penelope. If anything is to take place here to-night 
why are my relatives away ? 

Elizabeth. 1 regret, Miss Winthrop, that the present 
Ladies Dudley are not as fearless as their ancestors. 1 am 
not allowed to say more. 

(^Exit.') 

Penelope. How very mysterious, and what a queer 
girl ! 1 hope nothing very dreadful will happen. It is 
peaceful enough now! {Yawris agai?i, picks up a book 
and turfis pages idly.) Genealogy of the Dudley Family. 
H-m-m-m ! Reads like that annoying chapter in Genesis. 
Ah ! Here is something interesting. {Reads.) I'he Colo- 
nial Mansion on Beacon Street was built by Governor 
Dudley, and has been occupied by the family for over two 
hundred years. (Just think of the germs in this house !) 
In Revolutionary Times it was famous for its beautiful and 
high-spirited women, and was frequented by both Whigs 
and Tories. The house is supposed to be haunted, The 
tradition is — That a certain important episode in the family 
history is enacted on each anniversary of its occurrence^ 
December 2, 1775, between nine and twelve in the evening, 
and that any hvmg descendant of the family who has ihe 



THE PATRIOT GIRL 9 

courage may be a witness and a participator in the event. 
Why, this must be what Elizabeth meant, for this is De- 
cember 2d, and here am I a very much aUve member 
of the family. Now is my chance, if 1 have the courage. 
Have I the courage? Have I? Have 1? (^Pulls aside 
the curtains and 7'eveals portraits?) Yes, ladies, 1 have. 
1 have flown in an air-ship; 1 drive my own automobile; I 
can swim as far as any woman. I am not afraid of any- 
thing. Courage? Of course, Penelope. If your lady an- 
cestors can do brave deeds, surely you can watch them. 
Besides, there is one question I have for years wanted to ask 
those Colonial persons, and the opportunity is at hand. 
He^e 1 remain. {Dramatically .^ 

This rock shall fly 
From its firm base 
As soon as I. 

But what can the important episode be? Only two facts are 
important to a Massachusetts family. One is that they came 
over in the ''Mayflower." Now, our family did not — 1 am 
proud to say. The '* Mayflower " was only a furniture van 
— ^judging by the amount of ''Mayflower" stuff scattered 
over the country. No, it is not the " Mayflower." The 
other important fact is that Washington slopped in the house 
over night. xA.s a one-night sojourner, Washington has no 
rival except Queen Elizabeth. What can it be? 1 will 
wait. It is getting time for the performance. {Courtesies 
profoundly to the portraits.^ My brave and beautiful an- 
cestors, 1 salute you ! Here's to our better acquaintance. 
Of course this is j3erfect nonsense — and yet — {portraits all 
look at her, but without turning their heads ) portraits are 
uncanny. They always seem to be looking at one ! Surely 
there are no ghosts — and yet — 1 wish the servants were not 
so far away. ( Clock strikes nine, and portraits begin to 
move.^ Oh, heaven ! It is true ! They are moving ! They 
are coming out of their frames ! Help ! {Begins to run, 
and stops.) No, I will not be afraid- I am a Dudley, just 
as they are — but 1 will try and not be too conspicuous. 

( Comes down L. a?id crouches in chair. Portraits step out, 
adjust their gowns, yawn, and politely stretch.') 



10 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Constance Dudley. Is it not good to be free, Madame? 

Katherine Dudley. It is indeed, my child. 

Constance. Dost think we shall be alone to-night ? 

Katherine. Alas, yes, sweetheart, though 1 would that 
we might know some of the younger generation ! Still, it 
would sadly pain us to find no love of country or of family. 

Barbara Dudley. Art thou sure, good mother, that all 
damsels are now frivolous and worldly-wise, with no rever- 
ence for the past ? Surely only all-revering love would in- 
cline females to sit in these chairs of ours, when we have 
heard rumors of couches soft as down, and alluring ottomans 
of satin, stuffed with floss. 

Katherine. Oh, that one of our descendants were brave 
enough to come here on this, our one night. How much 
we might learn of the world ! 

Constance. Look, Madame ! (J^oints to Penelope.) 
Yonder is a strange female. Who art ihou? One of us ? 

Penelope. Yes, please, Pm Penelope Winthrop, of New 
York ; but I fear Pm in the way. PU go ! 

Constance {suddenly^. Oh, come on, Penelope ! Don't 
be a mollycoddle ! 

Katherine. Mollycoddle ! Thou froward female ! 
Where learned thou that word ? 

Constance {abashed). Remember you not the goodly 
young men who came last year, but lacked courage to stay ? 
One said — " Oh, brace up, kid ! Don't be a mollycoddle ! " 

Penelope {gleefully), Constance is a good sport ! All 
twentieth century ! 1 believe Pm her reincarnation — or 
whatever it is ! 

Barbara. Ah, sister ! What is right for coarse young 
men is not seemly for females. 

Constance. Fain would I be abreast of the times ; and 
one night in a year is full short to learn modish expressions, 
and all that has happened. 

Penelope. I should think that one night would be quite 
long enough to learn all that had happened in Boston fur a 
year. 

Katherine. I note in you the same contempt of New 
York for Boston which prevailed in our time. Dost noth- 
ing change? 

Penelope. Well, nothing in Boston ; they wouldn't 
allow it ! Oh, dear me, ladies, 1 fear that was very rude, 
but 1 really do not know how to treat a ghost. 



THE PATRIOT GIRL II 

Constance. Prithee how didst thou come here, cousin — 
in thy father's coach ? 

Penelope. Coach ! No ! I came on the Knicker- 
bocker — the train, of course ! 

Katherine, The train ? What mean you? 

Penelope. Oli, the poor antiquated creatures ! A train 
is — a — a — long, large box, with wheels on it. Inside are 
seats; you sit in one of the seats; a big iron thing in front, 
with a fire in it, says *' Choo ! Choo ! Choo ! Chob, choo, 
choo, choo ! " and away you go to Boston. 

Barbara. 'Tis marvelous indeed ! 

Penelope. Now, ladies, before we go one step further, I 
want to ask you a question which has haunted me for years. 
Listen! Why did you serve your tea in dishes? Was it 
not awkward, and did not the tea get cold ? 

(All the ancestors, burstinc^ into tears, grasp Penelope, 
and drag her to the centre of the stage. ^ 

Ancestors. H-u-s-h ! We don't drink tea ! 

Penelope. Don't drink tea? Why not? Afraid of 
your complexions? Oh, now I remember! That little tax 
difficulty ! You ought to know the things we are taxed for 
now ! But do tell me about the dishes, if it will not make 
you feel too badly. 

Katherine. I can hardly bear to speak of my tea; but 
we drank it in dishes like this. [Picks up a cup.') 'Twas 
vastly convenient ! 

Penelope. Thank goodness, I know at last. I thought 
it was vegetable dishes. 

Constance. Tell me. Cousin Pen. Have you any 
lovers ? 

Penelope {enthusiastically). Dozens and dozens ! 

Barbara. Oh, but thou art frivolous ! Tell us — are 
they not monstrous affording? And do they woo at length 
and with feeling, and kneel and kiss your hand? 

Penelope. Well, they don't kneel much when they make 
love. Don't have time. You see, they propose on street 
cars, or at the theatre, or any old place. 

Barbara. Any old place? Why an old place? 

Penelope. Denr me, girls, I am a horrible example for 
you innocents. Don't you ever say '* Any old place." It 
is fearfully wicked — slang and all that ! 



12 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Constance. 'Tis monstrous expressive ! But tell me — 
your lovers — are they Whigs and Tories? 

Penelope {jificertainly). No-o-o-o, I guess not. Re- 
publicans and Democrats. (Constance looks surprised.) 
That is, not many Democrats, but one or two will creep in, 
best you can do. 

Barbara. I care not what they are, so they are interest- 
ing. Would they love us ? 

PeneLope. Oh, mercy, no ! You're too old ! 

Constance. Old ! 1 have seen just nineteen summers ! 

Penelope. Ah, my dear, but that was in 1775. Think 
of the one hundred and thirty-six cold icy winters you have 
passed since then ! 

Constance. But we really live only in 1775. Alas ! 
They are troublous times, and often Barbara and I fear we 
may never wed. My chosen lover is Anthony Rowland, 
and I have not seen him for weeks. 

Penelope. Why don't you ring him up? 

[All the ladies astonished.^ 

Constance. Ring him up? 

Penelope. Yes, telephone him ! Oh, I forgot ! Tele- 
phones are since your time. Nowadays, you can talk into a 
little box, fastened to a wire, and be heard at the other end 
of the wire, which is in your friend's house. 

Kathehine. My child ! My child ! Surely thou art 
mentally distraught ! Try to cure these wild delusions ! 

Penelope. Oh, auntie, it is true — really it is; but I can- 
not make you understand ! 

Katherine. 1 fear, daughters, that thy Cousin Penelope 
is not a maid of truth. She is not fit company for thee. 

Penelope. But it is true, 1 tell you. A great many 
wonderful discoveries have been made since 1775. Now lis- 
ten carefully, while I try to explain the telephone. You go 
to a box, fastened to the wall, with a round thing attached, 
which you can put up to your ear — like this. Then you say 
*' Hallo ! Hallo ! " Then you wait a while, until you hear 
a very cross little voice asking, '' What number? " and you 
answer politely — "Beacon 4020." Then you hear — "Line 
busy ! " and you go away. After a while, you try again — 
"If you please. Beacon 4020." At last you hear a man's 
voice, and you say — "That you, Charlie?" and you hear 
— "Charlie? Not on your life! Please keep off this line 



THE PATRIOT GIRL I3 

till I get through ! " And after a long, long time, when you 
are very, very tired, you get Charlie's house, and find he is 
not at home. 

Barbara. 'Tis marvelous, indeed, Cousin Penelope; but 
to my simple mind, it would be vastly easier to send the 
footman with a note to friend Charles. 

Penelope (//;///c2;////o^ Barbara). Beshrevv me, wise Bar- 
bara, but methinks thou art right. A footman and an auto- 
mobile are the swiftest combination. 

Katherine. An automobile, did you say? What is 
an 

Penelope. Now don't ! Do not ask me to explain an 
automobile, for I cannot do it ! The locomotive and the 
telephone are all you can possibly grasp in one year. On 
December 2d of next year you can learn about the automo- 
bile and the air-ship. Let us continue the discussion on lov- 
ers — a topic with which we are all familiar. 

Barbara. Sometimes I think 'tis best, on the whole, to 
let the men alone, and devote one's life to literature. Can 
you write poetry, cousin ? 

Penelope. Write poetry ? No ! I can recite only one 
stanza, {Dramatically.') 

Down in the cellar, dark, remote, 
In solemn grandeur stands — the Goat. 
About him sweeps the raging storm. 
And snowy hillocks round him form. 
He eats the coal to keep him warm. 

Barbara. 'Tis wondrous dramatic, yet strange and un- 
expected withal. 

Penelope. Yes, it's — it's — it's — the limit. 

Constance (^,?//^/!/^^/f). The limit! The limit! The 
limit ! 

Barbara. Think you it is as good as my epitaph ? 

Twice ten years old, not fully told, since 

Nature gave me breath. 
My race is run, my thread is spun. 

Lo ! Here is cruel death. 

Katherine. Barbara, get thy back board and walk for a 
little. Thou art growing round shouldered from over study. 



14 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Penelope. Continuing our cheerful conversation, who 
is this solemn old codger in the picture — one of our ances- 
tors, Barbara ? 

Barbara. It is, indeed. Joseph Dudley. He was put 
in jail for going fishing on Sunday. 

Penelope. The abandoned villain ! Was he famous for 
nothing else? 

Barbara. Nothing but a froward temper. 

Penelope. And this simpering lady ? 

Katherine. Hush, Barbara. I will tell thy cousin. It 
is not fitting that young maidens should speak of this female. 
This is Hannah Dudley. She was called before the town 
fathers for allowing a young man to sit with his arm around 
her waist for two hours. The fathers agreed that the young 
man had beguiled her, and should be punished ; but she 
said she was not beguiled ; whereupon, they denounced her 
as a bold virgin, and it was so writ in the town records. 

Penelope. Have we any ancestors that we can speak of 
without blushing ? 

Barbara. Here ! The distinguished Governor Dudley 
— four times Governor of Massachusetts, and deputy Gov- 
ernor times without number — our first ancestor to come to 
America. 

Penelope. Ah ! I breathe again. Governor, I greet 
you. QBows to the portrait.) 

KatheriNe. Children, it is wrong to waste the precious 
hours in idle discourse. Let us compose ourselves for the 
ordeal which lies before us. Constance, to your spinning- 
wheel, and sing to us as you work. 

Barbara. Yes, Constance. Sing us Anthony's favorite 
love song, which he carols so sweetly. 

(Constance si7igs — ^^ Drink tome 07ily with thine eyes y) 



curtain 



ACT II 

The Event 

SCENE. — As before. Katherine, Constance, Barbara 
and Penelope presetit. Constance walks about, un- 
easily expectant. 

Constance. Oh, Madame! Why does he not come? 
How cruel of General Washington to send Anthony on that 
dangerous mission ! 

Katherine. But the glory of success ! Through all the 
ages will be told the brave deed of Anthony and his little 
band to save his beloved town. 

Constance. I care not for glory, but only for my lover. 
Suppose he does not return ! 

Barbara. Then, Constance, be comforted. I will write 
his epitaph. 

Penelope. Barbara is positively exhilarating. 

Katherine. At any rate, we have heard no bad news, 
so seek to calm thyself, my child. As thou knowest. Sir 
Eustace Grafton will soon be here, and thy grief may arouse 
his suspicion, 

Constance. Misfortune seize Sir Eustace. 

Barbara. Oh, Constance ! Of a surety, he will ask for 
thy hand this night, and 1 do so long to know how he will 
address thee. 

Katherine. I prithee, dear child, do not anger Sir 
Eustace. Though he has been kind, I fear him — staunch 
Loyalist that he is. Word has come to him of the meetings 
held here by the patriots, and he may suspect that valuable 
papers are concealed in this house. If so, it will need all 
our craft to protect them. 

Constance. But, Madame, I do not love him. He is an 
enemy to our Cause. Besides, I am betrothed to Anthony. 

Penelope. Is it possible that even the ghost of an 
American girl would prefer a plain American citizen to a 
titled Englishman ? I cannot believe my ears ! 

Barbara. Yes, Constance, be true to Anthony. As for 
the papers, we will defend them with our lives ! 

15 



l6 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Penelope. Glorious ! 

Maid. Mr. Anthony Howland, Madame. 

(^Enter Anthony Rowland, dressed m soldier'' s uniform, 
ivith long riding cloak, as if from a journey. Bows to 
all.) 

Anthony {to Constance). At last, my dear one ! 
{They embrace.') 

Barbara. Oh, Anthony, here you are — safe I And I 
was just writing your epitaph. Listen ! 

Katherine. Silence, Barbara ! Anthony, this is our 
cousin, Penelope Winthrop, from New York. 

Penelope. Why, how do you do, Mr. Howland ? 

Anthony {bozving low). Madame, your most obedient ! 
You came from New York, ma'am. Noticed you any great 
activity among the British there of late ? 

Penelope. Well, no ! You see, almost all the American 
heiresses are married or engaged, and impecunious English- 
men are looking elsewhere. 

Anthony. 1 protest, ma'am, you misunderstand me ! I 
meant activity in regard to the war. 

Penelope. Oh, no ! The war is all over in New York. 

Barbara. La, Penelope ! I vow 'tis not fair so to tease 
him. He does not know you. 

Constance. Leave the frivolous miss, Anthony, and tell 
us of your expedition. Was it successful ? 

Anthony. It was entirely successful ! 

Penelope. Where have you been, and why did you go? 
Tell us all about it. 

Anthony. You know that for some months Boston has 
been at the mercy of the British soldiers, who have ruined 
our property, desecrated our sacred edifices, and insulted 
our people ; and it has been the desire and purpose of 
General Washington to drive the army out of the city. 
This attempt would fail without the aid of heavy artillery, 
which we sadly lacked ; and remembering that we held guns 
at Fort Ticonderoga and Crown Point, a plan was made to 
transport them hither. 

Constance, 'Twas Anthony's plan, dear cousin. 

Penei.ope. Oh, of course! 

Anthony. Twenty of us volunteered, and left Cambridge 
under command of Colonel Knox, the brilliant young sol- 



THE PATRIOT GIRL 1 7 

dier. At the moment of departure, we learned that 
treachery was afoot. Our plans had been betrayed to 
British spies, and General Gage had ordered a company to 
forestall us in our arrival, and seize or destroy the guns. 
Nothing daunted, Colonel Knox urged greater speed, and 
more caution withal, and we started on our way. 

Katherine. Is not the Colonel young for such re- 
sponsibility ? 

Anthony. Ah, Madame, young in years, but old in 
courage, and in soldier's wisdom. Our way was rough and 
cold. Some nights we spent in small villages ; but more 
often, our lodging was the frozen ground, where we lay in 
the snow, wrapped in our blankets, with camp-fires burning, 
to keep off the wolves. By day we struggled on, hungry, 
half dead with fatigue, and always exi^ecting an assault by 
Gage's men. Nearing the forts, we procured sledges and 
horses from the farmers, and at last arrived in Ticonderoga, 
finding, to our joy, the guns in good condition ! 

Katherine. Heaven be praised ! 

Anthony. We loaded the artillery on the sledges, not 
stopping for even one day of rest. The return was more 
dangerous, for the British, not daring to attack us openly, 
placed obstacles and traps in our way at every turn. But 
one evening we came upon them unawares; and after a 
short skirmish, we went on into the darkness, leaving behind 
us in the snow our foes, their unseeing eyes turned upward 
to the midnight sky. 

Constance. And were you not wounded ? Were none 
of your men killed ? 

Anthony. Fortunately, none. The cannon are even 
now near Boston, and Colonel Knox sent me forward to ac- 
quaint our General with the good news. 

Barbara. What said he? Was he pleased ? 

Anthony. He said nothing. 

Penelope. Like the parrot ! 

Anthony. Few ever are his words ; but I shall never 
forget his look of triumph, and the clasp of his hand. But 
I must return. I came only for a moment to learn of your 
health and safety. For a short time, farewell. ( Goes out.) 

Constance. Oh, I am so happy ! 

Barbara. How does it seem to be in love, Constance ? 

Constance. Oh, but 'tis heavenly, sister ! 'Tis hke 
jiothing else in the whole world ! 



l8 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Barbara. Fain would I know the feeling, but methinks 
I shall go to my grave unsought. I shall so tell it in my 
epitaph. 

Penelope. Don't you do it, Barbara ! Don't you do 
it ! Never, never acknowledge that you could not have a 
lover, if you desired one ! 

Katherine. Thou art most worldly, Penelope, and wise 
beyond thy years ! 

Penelope. Well, you have to be — in New York I 

(^Enter Maid.) 
Maid. Sir Eustace Grafton, Madame. 
(^Eiiter Sir Eustace.) 

Sir E. Madame Dudley ! {Boivs low and kisses her 
hand. Then greets the gi?ls.) Miss Barbara, still wooing 
the Muses? Miss Constance, what ecstasy to see you once 
more ! 

Barbara. Did you not see her yesterday at Madame 
Lee's ? 

Sir E. Ah, but 'tis a century since then ! How beauti- 
ful you are, my Lady Constance ! 

Constance. Sir Eustace, you presume ! 

Sir E. But, fairest, you must long have known 

Katherine (J?iterri/pting). Sir Eustace, I wish to pre- 
sent you to my niece, Mistress Penelope Winthrop, from 
New York. 

Sir E. Ah, so ! {Raises his glass superciliously.') 
Mistress Winthrop is from the theatre ? 

Penelope. Well, I never ! Oh, it is these clothes. 
(^Giggles and sweeps a courtesy.) Yes, from Drury Lane, 
London. 

Sir E. Ah, so ! {Turns to Constance.) Surely, my 
sweetheart, you will grant me time this evening to say what 
I 

(Constance looks at the girls in distress.) 

Barbara. Sir Eustace, may I read you my latest epitaph ? 
'Twill please you vastly ! 

Penelope. How 1 wish it were his own epitaph! I 
fear he is going to make trouble for my ancestors. 

Sir E. {aside). Perdition seize these meddling females ! 



THE PATRIOT GIRL 



19 



(^To Barbara.) Of a surety, Miss Barbara. 'Tis a sweet 
privilege to listen to you. 
Barbara (f-eading). 

My bones are buried in yon churchyard 

So far beyond the sea ! 
'Tis only that my blithesome ghost 
Is speaking now to thee. 

Sir E. {aside). I almost wish it were. (^To Barbara.) 
With what deep feeling do you write — what true sensibility ! 
Thanks, fair poetess ! But away with gayety and mirth. 
The times forbid it ! 

Penelope. Is an epitaph his idea of gayety and mirth ? 

Sir E. Madame Dudley, Lord Howe, knowing my 
friendship for you all, commissions me to offer you a pass 
out of Boston, and accommodations on the next ship sailing 
for England. At any moment there may be a battle to 
teach these rebels who is master, and the place for all loyal 
ladies is at home. 

Katherine. Convey to Lord Howe my grateful thanks 
for his consideration. 

Sir E. Forgive my abruptness, Madame, but you must 
have long been sensible of my love for your daughter. I 
sail for home next week. May it not be my privilege to 
escort my promised bride, the fair Constance, and her 
family to England ? Let us leave this country forever ! 

Katherine, Sir Eustace, you say truly that all loyal 
persons should be at home ; but Boston is our loved home, 
and gladly and proudly we share in her suffering, her 
failures, her triumphs. Here we shall remain. As for your 
suit to my daughter, she will speak for herself. 

Sir E. Madame, I still hope to persuade you. Mistress 
Constance, I await your answer. 

Constance. Sir Eustace, I thank you for the honor you 

have done me, and I answer {Steps suddenly to the 

table and takes up a ivine glass, which she raises hi^h in 
air.) Here's to George Washington and all true patriots! 
Success to our glorious struggle for freedom ! 

Penelope. Hurrah ! America forever ! 

Sir E. {sneerijig). Ah, so ! My fair rebel. You reject 
my suit. Perchance your love is already bestowed on one 
of these same patriots. 

Constance. It is. 



20 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Sir E. {to Katherine). Ah, ladies, it requires diplomacy 
to be friends with both parties. I congratulate you. I had 
HO idea that your sympathy was bestowed upon the riffraff 
that presume to rebel against their King. 

Katherine. Sir Eustace, your words are an insult ! 

Barbara. With what pleasure shall I write his epitaph ! 

Sir E. Pardon, Madame ! My grief and disappoint- 
ment must be my excuse. 'Tis my misfortune that 1 urged 
my suit too late. 

Barbara {aside). Why does not the man go away? 

Sir E. {over hear ijig). In good time, fair lady. There 
is still another matter. 'Tis known to Lord Howe that 
certain rebels — country bumpkins — have held meetings in 
this house, and he suspects that valuable papers may be 
concealed here. Below wait a company of soldiers with 
orders to make a thorough search. I had hoped to avert 
the unpleasantness from my bride, but now {hoiving 
ironically) I really fear the search must go on. 

Constance. Is it thus you prove your love, Sir 
Eustace ? 

Sir E. Alas, Madame ! My love is vain — is killed, 
and nothing is left me in future but my country. But even 
now the trouble may be averted if I but say the word. 
Fair Constance, art sure you cannot love me? 

Constance. Sir Eustace, I would rather die than be 
your wife ! I despise you ! 

Penelope. Of all the contemptible Let them kill 

us all, Constance ! 

Sir E. Madame Dudley, 'tis useless to resist. It is 
positively known that you have here concealed papers re- 
garding the fortifying of Dorchester Heights, and find them 
we will, though we pull down every stone in the house ! 

Constance. Mother, forgive me ! There is no other 
way. {Goes to desk^ and with seeming reluctance takes 
papers from a secret drawer, and gives thej?i to Sir E.) 
Coward ! Now go ! 

{Enter Anthony. Constance rttns to him.) 

Sir E. {sfieerifig, and raising his glass). Ah, friend 
Howland 1 'Tis a Yankee trick to appear when danger is 
past. 

Anthony {furiously — half drawing his sword). Dog ! 
Your life shall pay for this insult ! 



THE PATRIOT GIRL 21 

Katherine {stepping between thevi). Gentlemen, put up 
your swords ; you forget where you are. 

Sir E. {bowing). Thanks, Madame, for the interruption. 
I had, for a moment, forgotten that gentlemen fight only 
with their equals ; and methinks my sword would have been 
tarnished with the blood of this yokel — this tea-destroyer — 
this ' 

Anthony. Madame, forgive me ! 1 must 



Penelope. Yes, Anthony Howland, if you do not fight 
him, I will. The cowarci ! to hurl his insults from behnid 
the shelter of women's skirts ! 

Sir E. Ah, so ! Our little English actress is becoming 
dramatic ! 

Penelope. No English actress, Sir Eustace, but Penel- 
ope Dudley Winthrop, of New York — a plain American 
girl, with a deep and enthusiastic love for my country, its 
principles and its aspirations, which two hours ago I should 
have deemed impossible. Henceforth, an eagle will scream 
on both my shoulders ! When you are half as good an 
Englishman as I am an American, you will not be sent to 
intimidate women. 

Sir E. {bowi?ig to Penelope and going to Consta'nce). 
Forgive me, sweetheart, but I am half mad at the thought 
of losing you. Is there no hope ? Will you never marry 
me ? 

Constance. Marry you ! 

(Draws aside her skirts i?i loathingy and walks haughtily 

away.) 

Katherine. Sir Eustace, for over a year you have been 
welcome in this house as a courteous gentleman. Now all 
is changed — though I would fain think that your conduct 
to-day — despicable as it is — may be justified in some man- 
ner by your love for your country. Never darken these 
doors again ; but now, for past friendship, go in peace ! 

Anthony. You shall hear from me, sir ! 

Sir E. At your service, sir. Madame, your pardon — 
pardon — and farewell. 

(All turn their backs as he bows and goes out.) 

Penelope. Oh, but the papers — the papers ! 
Barbara. They will ruin Washington's plans. 



22 THE PATRIOT GIRL 

Anthony. The villain, to persecute women ! Harmed 
he any of you ? 

Constance {laughing). Have no fear, Anthony ! 
Through some spy, he learned of valuable papers concern- 
ing the fortifications on Dorchester Heights, which papers, 
as you know, were commended to us for safe keeping. To 
save Madame, our mother, from insult, and the town of Bos- 
ton from the British, I feigned to surrender the papers, and 
gave him — Barbara's collection of epitaphs. Didst know it, 
sister ? 

Barbara. Of a surety I knew it ! But I thought — what 
more can I give my country than my life's work ? and I 
bade my poems Godspeed ! 

Anthony. Good little patriot that you are ! The Gen- 
eral sent me for these same papers. (Constance takes 
them from another place. He moves up stage. Con- 
stance, Barbara and Katherine follow him.') Now I 
must hasten on. Word has just come of the capture of a 
British supply ship, and I will do my best to obtain what 
will add to your comfort. Our men shall guard this house 
henceforth. Farewell, my brave little sweetheart. I am 
doubly proud of you this day. A disclosure of our plans at 
this time would have lost us Boston forever. Farewell, my 
little New York cousin-to-be. Don't forget to be proud you 
are an. American. 

{Bozvs to all the ladies, and exit. A clock strikes twelve.) 
Katherine (Jwlding up a finger). Hark, the hour strikes. 

(Katherine, Barbara and Constance, up c, stand as 
though petrified. ) 

Penelope {down l.). Constance ! Barbara ! Why do 
you look so strange ? {She goes toward them, looks from 
one to the other and comes do7vn l.) Oh, I see. It is all 
over. What an experience I have had ! How wonderful 
they all were ! Anthony risked his life on a dangerous 
quest. Madame unhesitatingly chose insult, privation, and 
even death itself, rather than desert the Cause. Constance, 
by her quick wit, saved the town ; and Barbara gave her 
life-work for her country. Oh, 1 have just learned what it 
means to be an American. To think i even jested about 
our National Hymn ! But 1 am an American. Thank 



THE PATRIOT GIRL 23 

God ! And of course I know our National Hymn. The 
lamp of liberty may sometimes grow dim, but it burns 
with a deathless flame in every true heart. Oh, America, 
my glorious country — the Land of the Free, and the Home 
of the Brave ! 

My country 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of Liberty, 
Of thee I sing. 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the Pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain side 
^ Let Freedom ring. 

Our Fathers' God, to thee, 

Author of Liberty, 

To thee we sing. 

Long may our land be bright 

With Freedom's holy light. 

Protect us by thy might. 

Great God, our King. 

(As she begins the hyf?i?t, the ancestors step slowly hacky 
and resume positions in frames. During the last stanza^ 
they remaitt as portraits.^ 



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